


End of a Day

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 2 Coliver Codas [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Coda, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, Episode: s02e01 It's Time to Move On, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor’s buzzed when he leaves the club.</p>
<p>Not on alcohol. He’d stopped after one. It wouldn’t do to show up back at Oliver’s home reeking of booze, after ditching Oliver on their first official night living together. The itch of adrenaline pulsing under his skin came from it all. Being out. Having fun. Dancing. Laughing. Teasing. Letting it go. Forgetting for a night about classes and work and how exhausting lying was.</p>
<p>And Oliver.</p>
<p>Coming home to Oliver.</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A post 2x01 Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of a Day

Connor’s buzzed when he leaves the club.

Not on alcohol. He’d stopped after one. It wouldn’t do to show up back at ~~Oliver's~~ home reeking of booze, after ditching Oliver on their first official night living together.

So, it wasn’t alcohol or drugs or anything else giving him this feeling as he drove home. This giddy, ecstatic, thrilling feeling of being alive.

The itch of adrenaline pulsing under his skin came from it all. Being out. Having fun. Dancing. Laughing. Teasing. Letting it go. Forgetting for a night about classes and work and how exhausting lying was.

And Oliver.

Coming home to Oliver.

_I’m going home to Oliver._

The thought makes him giggle as he waits at a stoplight. Connor turns up the music and ignores how manic he sounds when his laugh echoes back.

The beat of the bass is still pumping through his veins when he slips his key in the lock of 303. He’s careful to open the door slow, wary of squeaky hinges, and shuts it softly behind him. Toeing off his shoes and shrugging off the jacket, Connor pads his way through the apartment but pauses to turn to the kitchen.

Oliver left the light under the microwave on.

For a breath, Connor tries to remember the last time someone left a light on to make sure he didn’t come home to darkness. His mother, maybe? Had anyone ever taken the time to do that?

His stride to the bedroom is purposeful now. No longer tiptoeing around, wary of waking Oliver, because Oliver’s getting woken up.

Connor’s got that craving again. But not for an orgasm this time (although that’d be nice). This is a more specific craving. A craving for a bespectacled man with dimples when he grins who leaves lights on to guide Connor home.

In the bedroom, Oliver’s curled on his side and Connor grins darkly as he crawls up the bed. Gently, he guides Oliver onto his back and cups a hand behind Oliver’s neck, tilting Oliver’s head up so Connor can kiss him awake.

Oliver’s groan is groggy and weak when Connor’s lips press to his and Connor smiles. He moves to trail lips along Oliver’s cheeks and jaw and forehead before kissing Oliver again, deeper this time.

“What time is it?” Oliver sighs out. He arches his neck, stretching off sleep, and Connor takes full advantage.

“Late,” Connor whispers into Oliver’s neck.

“What are you-?” Oliver swallows his question back down when Connor kisses him again.

Connor tugs up the hem of Oliver’s shirt before managing to slip a hand under. He wants to feel Oliver’s skin. The ripple of muscle under his hand. The beat of Oliver’s heart against his own. He needs it.

Oliver knots a hand in Connor’s hair and wraps a leg around Connor’s hip. Pressing Oliver into the mattress with his hips, Connor deepens this kiss. Licking into Oliver’s mouth, wet and hot. It’s obscene and heady and Connor’s head is spinning with it but it’s not enough. He needs more.

Oliver tugs hard Connor’s hair, pulling him off, and the whine that escapes Connor’s throat is high and pathetic. Another place, another time, Connor might be embarrassed with how needy he sounds but right now he doesn’t care.

“Have you been drinking?” Oliver asks and Connor’s quick to shake his head.

“No.” Connor ducks down to mouth down Oliver’s neck. “No. I was good,” he whispers. He sucks a mark that won’t last into Oliver’s collarbone. “So good.” Grinding his hips against Oliver’s, Connor breathes out, “So good for you, Oliver.”

With a growl, Oliver flips them over. Fighting buttons and zippers, he rips off Connor’s shirt and shoves down Connor’s pants. Connor kicks his legs, trying to work his pants down the rest of the way, while he slips his hands under Oliver’s shirt. His fingertips are cool against Oliver’s skin as he slips them up to take off Oliver’s shirt.

Then, finally, they’re chest-to-chest. Oliver’s heart is strong and true against his own and Connor revels under it. This is what he wanted. What he’s needed. Oliver above him, around him, surrounding him. Wrapped in their sheets. In their bed. In their apartment.

_Theirs. Theirs. Theirs._

It’s too much. Too fast. It’s not nearly enough. Their kiss turns frantic as Connor shakes with need. He’s going to lose it. He’s going to lose all of this. He can feel that edge rushing up to meet him. It’s all going to slip through his fingers again. He’s going to be alone again.

“Oliver,” he begs. “Oliver-I need-” He pants against Oliver’s mouth. “I need-”

“I know.” Oliver settles deeper, letting his weight press and soothe where words cannot. “I’ve got you.” Lining them up, hip-to-hip, length-to-length, Oliver rocks against him and pulls one of Connor’s hands to his chest. “Got you. Got you.”

For a moment, a breath, it’s good. Connor keens and arches back, raking his fingers down Oliver’s back and hooking a leg over Oliver’s hip. It’s perfect. It’s everything.

“Yours,” Connor sighs. His breath warm and damn against Oliver’s temple. “Yours, Oliver.”

“Mine.” Oliver slots their lips together and the kiss is bruising. It’s a brand, a claim, and Connor never wants it to end.

Then Oliver’s moving, leaning over to get something and Connor shifts up to capture Oliver’s mouth again when he leans back.

The click of the lube cap is unmistakable and Connor grins against Oliver’s lips before breaking off in a gasp when Oliver’s hand wraps around him. “Oliver.”

Oliver’s chuckle is dark as Connor bucks into his hand. “Told you I got you.”

And he does. Oliver’s hand on him, firm and rhythmic. Oliver’s lips on his, smooth and wet. Oliver’s heart against his own; beating a wild pace that matches Connor’s own. All this, while safe and whole in their home and Connor breaks, quicker than he’d like, with a cry cut short, mindful of the neighbors he’ll be seeing in the hall.

Oliver’ chuckle is still dark but edging toward fond and he dots kisses along the line of Connor’s collarbone and down his shoulder, while Connor gets his breath back.

Connor’s hand is light on Oliver neck when he pulls Oliver in and for a kiss that’s tender and sweet. Connor thinks he can taste the smile in it and calls himself a fool.

Distracting Oliver with little bites on his jaw, Connor reaches for the lube, forgotten on the bed beside them. He thinks he’s almost gotten away with it when Oliver grabs his wrist, clamping down just as Connor’s reached for him.

“Connor-” Oliver begins as he sits back but Connor’s quick to follow. There’s a warning in his tone and apprehension in his shoulders but Connor’s having none of that. Not now. Not in their bed.

“I got you, Oliver,” Connor whispers, eyes locked on Oliver’s as he circles his fingers. He’s slow and his lips against Oliver’s are soothing. “I got you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)
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> PS: I wanted to title this Coming Home but that seemed inappropriate....


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